Steel & Fire
by glaizedonut
Summary: Her fire eats away at love and loathing; your steel breaks hearts and bones. [AU; FRF Prompt 353]
1. Chapter 1

**[ volo ]  
**by glaizedonut

**Disclaimer:** The characters are from _Final Fantasy XIII_ and belong to Square Enix.

* * *

One of Lightning's biggest fears was being powerless.

Her pale icy fingers poked the insides of her palm as her hands tightened into hard but shaking fists on her lap. Her stomach twisted and acid shot up and she was soon to draw blood from biting her bottom lip.

"_Civilians are currently being forced to evacuate–"_ She opened her palms only to let her nails dig into the thick leather of her skirt. She sucked in a sharp breath as she strained to watch a small child and her mother slam against the next building, limbs burning, before another bomb was dropped into the area.

She swallowed at this intangible projection of the violence and fear she had fought so hard against only just a couple of years ago. Her senses were sharp–too sharp, that her nose tingled at the memory of rotting dead bodies and sulfur and smoke, and her ears rung at the gunshots that rained above her and others, one missing by inches her ear which throbbed at the silence that now filled the room.

The projection went blank, before a Primarch with the face of stone and eyes that pierced appeared standing behind a podium with hope and inspiration staining his words. Lightning exhaled shakily as the real Primarch grumbled softly in admiration of perhaps himself.

"You have seen this, have you not?" A grin teased at the edges of his wrinkled pursed lips, and Lightning's hand twitched at the urge of wiping it off. He hovered his hand above his desk that blinked a static green. The volume of the projection lowered and the screen became transparent enough for her to catch the Primarch's eyes from across the room. "The announcement of a treaty, and the consummation of a truce that will be made lasting."

Lightning bit on her lip but remained wordless. A crowd's cheers and applause roared from the projection, and the Primarch on the screen continued his speech.

"_I may be your ruler but I am also my own man," his eyes narrowed when he tried to smile. "I am Galenth Dysley, a man of peace, and I bring to you the peace that we will strive for–a pact of harmony..." Dysley raised his hands and slowly brought them together. "...secured with a union between one of our own and the Pulsian tribes."_

"A marriage of state, between Cocoon and Pulsian...royalty," he swiped his hand above his desk again, and the projection blinked away. Lightning went stiff as Dysley's sharp gaze remained on her. "A child of mine as a consort to their leader."

"And you have none."

"None, precisely, and none yet," the old man with an army of hundreds surrounding his building chuckled, finally, as though he had been holding it in. "And I am far too old to have children of my own."

She took a deep breath and lifted her head. The man's amusement wrapped around her leg and crawled up, and she shifted slightly to shake off the discomfort. "Then you will have to adopt."

"Adopt, but not just any heir," he folded his hands in front of his face. "One that is capable to survive, and, if ever, live among the barbarians. One that does not die too soon."

"Someone who can live long enough for peace to work, you mean," she turned her head to the illuminated windows to her right, but could only see a radiant light and nothing of the outside.

He narrowed his eyes at the glass windows and took a moment to speak. "You are neither elite or high-ranking, but you are well known among your colleagues and superiors, Sergeant Farron," he raised his eyebrows as she turned back to him. "You are not only skilled and a quick learner, but you demonstrate a fierce determination through hard work and an intense discipline not common among soldiers in your ranks and age."

Satisfaction had always rushed through her veins as swiftly as flowing blood whenever she had heard anything similar to a compliment from her squad or Amodar, but reported from Dysley's lips, she only swallowed a thick lump of apprehension.

"You are also quite popular with men _and_ women, considering your dashing appearance."

"I fit the bill, then," Impatience seethed into the young soldier. "I'm strong enough to not be killed on the spot and pretty enough to get their pity to let me live. A whole package."

The Primarch thinned his lips. "And so I have arranged for you to be Cocoon's new princess."

Although Lightning had noted his objective long before she stepped into his cold, empty office, she couldn't control a scowl from disrupting the control of her blank face.

The Primarch leaned back into his chair and snorted. "To be celebrated as a bride to a Pulsian leader, a glimmering symbol of hope and peace for all the people of Cocoon, and, if you do well enough," She heard a growl behind his voice. "Even the Pulsians."

"You've got it all prepared, even without my word."

"There is a promise," Lightning's bitterness merely entertained him. "I have heard you have a sister. One you've raised all on your own, after being orphaned."

Her features went rigid, but her eyes locked on Dysley, pressing him on.

"This is far from a threat, Farron," A controlled sincerity stained his words. "With all my influence and honor as Cocoon's Primarch, I will exchange your service with support, security, and anything of your request for your family for as long as your life."

Lightning leaned back against her chair and chewed again on her bottom lip. That had more than sealed the deal, after much thought of the future. Working for the Guardian Corps had given her enough leverage to push Serah to college, and they had worked together in stocking up a hefty amount of savings, but the constant threat of death and not being able to look after Serah loomed over most of Lightning's anxieties.

"The wise decision glares at you, soldier." There was no decision. There had not been, from the start.

"Take my service."

A soldier she was entering the Palace, and a soldier she would leave it, with the order of bringing peace.

* * *

One of Lightning's several weaknesses was her sister.

There would many Lightning had crossed, and many more she would cross with little to no hesitation. This trait made her as impulsive as she was dangerous as a foe, to undomesticated creature weapons fresh from Gran Pulse and vicious criminals who tore their own limbs as a form of intimidation, mainly. Like all soldiers, she had been made into sturdy bone, shelled in a controlled determination and an affinity for duty, protection, and order in every aspect of her life. None could ever churn her stomach or weaken her knees enough to buckle except her sister.

The younger Farron, so similar in hair and face but more nimble, her eyes more welcoming, and words always spoken more softly, had always been in a place of danger in her sister's heart. Lightning didn't need to press herself to cherish her in kind reminders hardened with discipline and elderly authority, lingering hugs and playful remarks, all of which happened rarely.

And so it hurt, but her impatience burned slowly into an angry exasperation, when her sister had refused to even let her eyes pass her face for many hours on that day.

She had smiled warmly in her welcome by the entrance as soon as Lightning had returned from patrol, and before that, Dysley and her battle against the urge to assassinate His Eminence. All the pain and fatigue that piled on her shoulders dissipated. She had leaned against Serah who had latched on to her sister as tight as her slim arms allowed, head buried into her uniform. She gave her a little squeeze, and Lightning held her more firmly for a second before they had both pulled away, and Serah greeted her with glossy eyes and words they exchanged more often.

"I missed you!" And Lightning missed her too.

Now Serah kept still on the sofa, her mouth slightly agape and heavy-lidded eyes downcast on the carpet. Her hands lay open on her lap, as though they were waiting to be held, or to receive something. An explanation, perhaps, or a way to get through Lightning's head.

"Serah."

Water dripped from a faucet, landing on the steel sink with an echo through the silence.

"Stop," Lightning growled, and the girl–that was how she'd always see her little sister–moved her face away ever so slightly. "Realise that this is for your own good. Stop being immature."

"_You_ stop." Her voice cracked in her reply and her words wavered. "We've been fine. We've been okay, and you pull this off." The silence spread again as she trailed off, but she whimpered, snapping her head at Lightning with an abruptness that drove back her sister's anger with a scolding ferocity. "All I could ever think about for the past weeks was getting to see you again, and you– you…" She paused and stomped her feet, walking around the couch with her gaze up to the ceiling.

Lightning watched her blink the tears away. "I'm not sorry."

"Like it really even _matters_!" Serah choked out, eyes red and wet, and she lifted her head up again to face the ceiling and blinked quickly. She strained to speak. That made Lightning's throat ache. "You raised me. You raised _us_, helped us up, fought so we could have proper dinner on our plates. You can't just leave. You can't just _leave_…"

Lightning sighed. "He promised. I wouldn't have agreed if he didn't. I've told Lebreau and everyone else to watch over you, too–"

"It's not that, Lightning! I'm worried about you because you're _so_ stubborn and impulsive and thick-headed and you worry. You worry too much, too often, like you don't care about yourself," Serah began yelling halfway through, and she sat down and hung her head low in shame. "I look after you too, Lightning. I worry too."

"The Guardian Corps has taught me a few things. I'll be fine."

"You're getting married," A tear fell from one eye and Serah rubbed at hers vigorously. She leaned back into the couch and looked directly at Lightning, finally. "To some Warchief. People no one on Cocoon has ever met...They could hurt you." She took a sharp breath and Lightning's heart throbbed at her sister's quivering shoulders.

"They agreed to the treaty. They kill me, and war comes back," Lightning held her sister's gaze firmly, but gently, and her words were hushed to soothe. "But I'll be alert. I can take care of myself. And, I know, so can you."

That hadn't completely settled it, but Serah stopped fighting back. But she had woken up quite early on the day Lightning was supposed to leave for Cocoon's capital, having packed her sister's clothes and polished her weapons. She'd settled breakfast with a nervous excitement as she placed an object wrapped loosely in fine cloth.

"Don't open it until you get there," Serah squeaked out, averting her gaze from Lightning. "Make sure you come back." And she had smiled with the words.

They bid farewell in the same way they welcomed each other home just a few days before: arms wrapped tight around each other, warm silence, and stories that laid unspoken in a glance.

"I'll miss you."

* * *

Many of Lightning's dreams had been brushed aside for another.

Her parents were victims of the war and fifteen-year-old Lightning learned to press on with tears staining her cheeks, clutching a little Serah in one hand. The desperate military collected any and all volunteers possible as conscripted soldiers continued to lunge to their deaths and lower severely in numbers. She had fought through the war and til its end, and only when Serah first left off for university did Lightning ever consider planning for a future. It was a future of her and Serah, in her mind, an image she held closely to her heart. That was enough for a dream.

She massaged her neck where a few necklaces hung. They felt heavy and cold against her skin, and the hairs on the nape of her neck stiffened whenever she had to adjust them. She did not feel as bare as she expected to, but seeing the masses of people that had gathered around the capital teased out her paranoia. Her neck was open to attack as her hair had been put up and adorned with flowers and beaded clips. The lace patterns clung to her arms and so did the thin layers of silk, sitting nicely on her form.

"Lady," an appointed fetcher had knocked sharply on the oak door and beckoned for her to follow him out. Her veil, stretching long and wide on the floor, covered half her face and trailed after her as she was lured to the stadium.

He was Guardian Corps, as indicated by the sleek uniform that proved to be less bulkier and lighter than the rest of the military. She'd seen him on missions before, and Lightning could only wonder what he thought of her situation now. "A parade will come after, Your Highness," he spat out and with a curt bow darted off to join a line of Guardian Corps soldiers situated on either side of the stairs that led to the stage.

She walked carefully, in decisive strides, and took note of the area from the corner of her eye, aware of only how much her head could move. The arena was filled with no more than a hundred soldiers from various sections of the military, and Knights had gathered nearest to the stage and kept a watchful eye over the Primarch.

When she'd reached the stairs, horns sounded and bells clanged in conjunction to her every step. Her blood pounded in her ears as she caught on to a mixture of foreign scents that reminded her of wild flowers and crushed earth.

On the top of the stairs was Dysley, with a priest's tall hat upon his head and a proud and somber smile, standing behind the very podium he'd announced the treaty and the marriage. Across from her, the figure far still but the presence dominating, stood erect with feet spread apart a stranger wiry enough to be stronger than her but lean enough to be just as fast. Their skin was darker than anyone could imagine, coated with a deep blue paint that smudged the dark tattoos and contrasted the bright mineral beads that adorned their hair and formed strings of weight around their neck and wrists. Similarly dressed were the people that formed a huddle behind them, but the one that lifted their masked face upon her arrival wore the head and pelt of a beast Lightning had only ever seen in films.

The Primarch made a show of having his arm outstretched to her, eyes tender but not looking anywhere near her face. "Princess," he beckoned for Lightning.

She took a few long steps to him and bowed, and so did the Warchief, before turning to the audience of the stadium. Cameras were placed all over the stage, and she could make a hint of a few far in the other end of the stadium.

"I stand here overjoyed, and so do my people," He looks at the camera trained on Lightning. "In the union of not only royalty nor of people, but two nations in a new world. A peaceful world." He flips open a book on the podium and holds his hands high and apart. "In the name of the goddess Etro..."

A respectful silence dawned as Dysley prefaced the vows. Lightning now stood a few feet apart from the tall Warchief, but still saw nothing past the mask and the facepaint. Except now, they looked slimmer, delicate arms riddled with sharp tattoos and symbols, and a face left raw and unpainted so Lightning could see thin red lips curving into a dip in the middle. Fine features, nearly feminine–

The Warchief had not moved until then, lifting their head and Lightning swore she saw their lips twitch upwards through her veil. She turned her eyes at the bouquet tucked in her hands.

She heard a low hum and a growl but it disappeared as soon as she heard it. She swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat, chilled by Dysley's cold eyes that trained on her every movement. _Serah is okay. She will be._

"As ruler of Cocoon, father of the bride and an advocate for peace, I hereby declare you wed in lasting harmony, health, and life."

The bells began to clang and the sound pounded at her ears, accompanied by the applause from the soldiers in the stadium. The Pulsians, however, merely exchanged glances and soft whispers. Lightning glanced at them and back at the Warchief who remained tall and still. Dysley's gaze burned against her and she breathed deeply, taking a small, tentative step forward, legs tense under the layers of her heavy dress. She leaned forward, slowly, and she was so close that the scent of the paint and the pelt filled her nose.

Her shoulders hunched as the Warchief took their own step, leaning their head downwards to her, nearly closing the gap between them–

And held themselves steady in a deep bow.

The fur of their headdress ruffled the leaves and flowers of her bouquet when they pulled their head back up again. The applause began to die down, but the bells continued to chime and horns continued to sound, urging her to bow her own head.

By the time she had done it, the Warchief had long stepped away, leading their pack of painted men down the stairs on the other side.

* * *

**A/N:** hello! if youve gotten this far thaNK U SO MUCH FOR READING! this isnt my first fanfic but its been a while since ive written anything that wasnt a drabble or a shitty pretentious poem so. i very much welcome and adore constructive criticism! :) this was based on **prompt 353** from fangrai-forever (on tumblr) thank you for reading and please tune in for the next chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

Serah awoke with a pulsing warm wrist cradling her head and an ache that burned in her stomach. She had gotten used to the bitterness that climbed its way up to her throat, staining the root of her tongue, from the most stressful mornings of her days at university. She'd gotten rid of the bitterness with microwavable cup soup and garlic bread, but she found that she had none of those as well as the energy to pull herself off her bed.

Her face felt damp and she smelled a mix of sickly breath and salt. She swallowed thickly and propped herself up the tangled cushions and blankets with her elbows, heading out to the dining room.

"They really did her up, huh?"

"That looks nothing like Light…"

She ambled into the open space, rubbing at one eye. Her other caught a hazy sight of the television and she blinked to make the image of her sister clearer. Her eyes began to water at the thin silk gown wrapped around her and the delicate white lace that veiled her cold eyes.

Snow turned to her with a grin that squeezed her heart. "Afternoon, Serah."

All she could muster was a nod before she hurried to the sink and began washing her face. The tears joined in.

Snow's throat tightened and he frowned, but remained on the couch.

"Rough goodbye, was it?" Lebreau teased yet her voice remained as soft as her gaze that Serah met when she turned around, dabbing a towel at her face. She forced a smile before immediately pursing her quivering lips.

Although all of their concerned looks were on her, Maqui held little of his warmth back as his quiet voice shook in an earnest reassurance. "We're here for you, Serah."

The young woman approached them all but held back from their touches and refused to meet their eyes. "I know. She must have talked to you about it."

"She sure did," Yuj had himself sprawled on the couch next to Snow, with a cat of the same name napping on his lap. "As scary as she is, we're going to miss her. You're definitely not alone in this."

"Thank–" Serah cleared her throat and took a deep breath, raising her head to finally meet their gazes. "Thank you. All of you."

Snow chuckled at that. "Hey, maybe we can even visit her one day. I know Lebreau's made a few friends there," He gestured to the woman who crossed her arms with a huff.

"If the war didn't kill them already," she gritted her teeth and rolled her eyes, looking back at the large screen. "I'm just glad it's over…" The Warchief made for a deep bow before leaving a little after Lightning had managed her own. The bells chiming mixed with the roaring applause of the audience within the stadium, and the camera switched to one situated outside, broadcasting the hundreds that had gathered around the Capital stadium.

"No kissing, huh," Maqui raised an eyebrow.

Yuj smacked the younger man on the back of the head. "D'you really think Lightning would let some strange guy from Pulse kiss her?"

Lebreau cocked her head to the side. "At least he was polite. I mean, bowing and all. That must be how they do it back in their land."

_The very land Cocoon tried to rob the people of,_ Serah nearly blurted out. Her eyes were clouded with a weary vengeance, an urge buried deep within her concern and worry over her sister. She stared blankly at the Primarch on the screen and made her way out of the apartment after muttering a quick goodbye.

* * *

Lightning held her breath, waiting for each passing heartbeat, before she exhaled slowly. She stilled her mind with the face of a young Serah's bubbly cheeks in her head as well as her own young hands struggling with a toy gun that was too thick to hold. Her body rocked back and forth inside the humid beacon and she coughed, wheezing again and panting. The screaming and roaring of the citizens reached her ears and pierced whatever calm she had left.

Her float rocked to a halt, and she swallowed back her fear and stepped out.

A swarm of hands and decorated faces greeted her many feet below her, arms that clawed up her float only to be subdued by frantic officers surrounding it. Children waved the flag of Cocoon and its larger versions stood erect a few meters apart along the road of their parade.

"Princess of Dysley!" One exclaimed, and Lightning growled under her breath and made no attempt to hide the teeth in her snarl.

"You do not need to get used to the names," spoke a voice so calm it pushed Lightning even farther towards her edge. "You bear far other responsibilities, after all."

She turned around, her long gown following her only by inches as the piles of fabric remained draped on the long bench inside. Calculating murky eyes met hers, murky due to thick-rimmed glasses and a withheld intent.

The woman held a gloved hand. "Jihl Nabaat. Dysley's former advisor, if you immerse yourself in politics. I don't take that you really do."

"It's worth the mention," Lightning hadn't meant the steel in her words, the deep grumble in her chest after she had spoken, but she didn't bother to stop it either.

"Pleasure to meet you, Ex-Sergeant Farron."

Nabaat joined her at the fences of the float, looking off into the ocean of faces swimming around them and the float in front: Dysley's, a larger one, with the flag of Cocoon standing behind on its platform. The people roused again and yelled the Primarch's name, the promises of peace, plans for a future without war or violence.

It was not long until Dysley spoke with a booming voice and the speakers at every lamp-post crackled, and it was also not long until the crowd fell into an obedient silence and the Primarch began yet another speech. "The Yun tribe have travelled for days from Gran Pulse on their sturdy horses in order to join us in a celebration of the end to the War of Transgression and a union to seal the grief and loss of both worlds away. Though now they, with every respect for your Cocoon royalty, the Princess, have taken an early departure," He paused finally and drew in a breath. "Their reasons will not be disclosed, but accounted still."

Lightning perked up, lifting her chin. "Horseback?"

"Perhaps a pledge to remain with their traditions, but there can be many other reasons," Jihl tapped her fingers, clothed in thick, black leather on the fence. "They will get there in three, four days? We will be arriving far earlier."

Lightning's scalp itched from the sweat as well as the veil secured with pins and clips near her ears. "The former advisor's coming with me?"

"He sent me to watch and make regular reports."

"Make sure I do my job right," Lightning looked up at Dysley.

Jihl smiled. "Simply and directly, yes," She raised her eyes towards Dysley's as well. "I will be monitoring you, but only as much as I need to. I will also be managing the aids that Cocoon sends to Pulse."

"While I try to survive long enough until he lets me off the hook?"

"It's a marriage; a commitment."

"It's for until the riots in Cocoon stop," Lightning turned to Jihl with narrowed eyes that diced her glasses. "I've been patrolling in the city. Dysley's nose is sensitive to rebellion. When they all settle down, he won't care what I do."

Jihl scoffed, raising an eyebrow at her. "You have quite a thick head for a soldier that plays cunning in her missions."

Lightning felt her lips open to reveal gritted teeth.

"He will _not_ let you go," Jihl narrowed her eyes, and her own lips twitched downwards. "Not very soon, anyway. The Primarch is known to change his mind."

"He better not change his mind about Serah," Lightning's muscles tensed and she gripped on the fence, shooting a glare up at Dysley's float.

"From your audacity, he feels that you might lead a rebellion yourself if he ever became disloyal to his word." Jihl lifted her chin, stretching her neck to peer beyond her glasses. "The end of this road leads to our means of transport to Gran Pulse. The journey will only be four hours, at most."

Dysley finished his speech with a firm appreciation and retreated into the safety of his float. The people cheered again, but louder this time as fireworks decorated the deep orange skies, barely outshining the harsh light of the sunset.

* * *

Lightning placed a weary hand on the glass window. Her blue eyes seemed icier in her reflection, an image that mixed with misty clouds and silhouettes of ones that had been darkened by the dusk.

On her lap lay a long, slightly curved object wrapped in thin white cloth that reminded her of the rags she and Serah used to clean their rooms with. She set her palms gently on it, stroking its edges carefully, before letting her eyes shut away her weariness.

* * *

Of all her short, young years on Gran Pulse, having been born into its wilderness and raised with it as just one other feral being, Fang supposed there were large masses of land and forest she had yet to see. She would imagine the ferns tickling her arms as she stalked under thick knots of branch and moss, total calmness that attempted to still her racing thirst in a hunt, or a slice of sweet, soft fruit sliding down her tongue and staining it yellow, washed down with rich saccharine water.

She arrived in a deserted village near the outskirts of Gran Pulse and was welcomed by dry, harsh wind, smoke that still escaped from piles of destroyed machinery and dust that fogged their night. Thin scraps of metal floated around, grazing the earth peppered with sand.

Fang growled but could barely hear herself in the wind, and scowled beneath the thick mask attached to her headdress. Her face paint had smeared a little, little lines of sweat trickling down her neck to show tan skin. A warrior trotted to her high on his horse and she nodded in acknowledgement. "Find any?"

"Li'l girl, but she keeps screaming for her mother," The warrior wiped his brow, smudging the paint, but kept his features rigid. "Woman's pale and rotten next to her."

"Nana! Don't leave my Nana!"

Fang gritted her teeth and whipped around on her steed as she picked up on loud wailing from behind. One of her men struggled to keep a tight grip around the little girl who thrashed and yelled in his arms while trying to maneuver his horse, and another approached him immediately, pulling his ride gently by its thick long hair.

"_Nana!_" The girl sobbed and kicked around and another warrior tried to tie her feet up. She screamed, and the horse seemed to be close to kicking them both off of its back.

Fang's horse galloped quickly towards them as she gestured for the surrounding men to move away. Her horse nudged the other, younger horse, neighing gently by its ear as Fang slid down from atop hers. She took a step towards the child that slid from the warrior's arms and fell into Fang's before she could sprint away.

She set the child firmly on the ground but gripped her on either shoulder tightly, her large strong hands covering nearly the whole of the girl's arms. Her face was filthy from the ash and dust, and grime caked her cheeks and clung to her tattered clothes.

Water pooled at the corners of her eyes and she was about to set out into another wail when Fang dug her fingers into the grip and held the little girl's fearful gaze. The little girl whimpered, taking quick shallow breaths in an attempt to calm herself down.

"Kid," Fang's voice was soft but full of control and a temper. "Your Nana's dead. I'm sure you know that."

The girl gaped at her and the rapid rise and fall of her chest stopped briefly, before her eyebrows knotted together once again and she choked out a long, painful sob.

Fang loosened her hold on her and instead kept her closer, leaning her forehead against the child's. "But you. _You_ are not dying."

She pulled the child to her and rose to her feet. She turned to her horse and clicked, and the tall creature knelt before Fang slid onto its back again, clutching the crying child to her chest, leading her small pack of riders into the deeper forests.

* * *

Lightning clawed at her neck as a dull pain began to sear again, twitching under her skin to curve upwards to her head. She tasted bile in her mouth and rotated her neck carefully, leaning it to either shoulder, before gulping the contents of a full water bottle. Her vision swayed and her head felt heavy on her neck. She leaned down slowly, cradling it in her hands as her fingers massaged her throbbing temples. Her eyes burned more in the cold of the nigh empty jet, and a few seats in front she saw the top of Jihl's head, all ashy blonde and not at all rumpled. Lightning pressed her eyes shut and opened them again, feeling the heat and dampness.

Lightning peered into the glass windows but could barely make out any shapes in the still, utter darkness outside. It seemed the jet had been parked on a platform from the shimmering silver glinting on the edges from the distant moon, but the surroundings were a hushed pitch black. Night times in Cocoon never got this dark, and Lightning's brows furrowed at the thought of ambush and darkness in unfamiliar terrain. She turned to face forward only to see that Jihl had gotten up and was making her way to her, carrying a box wrapped in foil and a can of fruit juice. Lightning huffed and retrieved them from her hands and muttered a small "thank you", earning a mocking nod from Jihl.

She scavenged through the pockets of her vest. "You look more drained than refreshed."

"I've never been good with bad dreams," Lightning shielded her eyes from the blinding ceiling light behind Jihl's head.

The sachet of pills dangled from Jihl's fingers before she let it fall into Lightning's outstretched open hand. "It will relieve the pain until you go to sleep. Eat up and prepare yourself. We head out in an hour. The aids for the village will arrive shortly when we reach it."

Lightning doubted the villagers would be anything close to accepting without their leader marching with northern strangers to their gates, strangers of a world whose greed they countered with slick pools of blood and exchanged death as their own poison. "I hope they remember those aids and not attack us."

Jihl chuckled. "If they do, make them remember." She sauntered back with a thrilling skip to each step and exited the space, greeting the co-pilots in the next room.

* * *

Lightning shivered even under her thick trenchcoat. Several soldiers, both Guardian Corps and Dysley's own PSICOM spread themselves around both her and Jihl as the two women trekked not a very long distance from the jet's platform to the high but torn down electrical fences. Past it was what seemed like a large expanse, from the dry harsh coolness of the wind and the crickets that lined the fence. Their flashlights proved to be useful enough to see at least a few meters in front.

Jihl's head turned constantly from side to side, eyes scanning the wide space carefully while waving her torch up and down before her. From a distance, Lightning could make out a few trees, and behind them a dimmed orange light.

"That should be their fire," Jihl pointed up high far beyond the trees. A plane hovered a relatively close distance from above the fire, twinkling red and blue lights.

Lightning trailed after Jihl as the tall grass tickled her legs through her boots. "Would that be aid?"

"One of them. They distribute parachuted medicines and wait until other ships carrying relief goods and construction materials arrive."

The soldiers signaled for nearby animals, but an ambush from the shadows had yet to happen. Jihl seemed relatively calm as well and made a point of gesturing to the fence in reassurance. "It's been built around here for a reason," Jihl looked at each of their faces and nodded at every one. "Most beasts inside and around are harmless, and all of them afraid."

They reached the entrance–long wooden tubes strung together with wooden panels with its height more than thrice an average man. A gate beyond was half open, although several men lined the front, spears and axes tucked behind the pelts wrapped around their waists. Halfway to the gate, Jihl raised a hand to the soldiers and beckoned for Lightning to come. The other woman followed her suit, hunching her shoulders and straightening her back as they reached the array of guards who reached for their weapons.

Jihl paused in front of them, aware of her every movement, yet her thin fine mouth and eyes clear of knotted tension remained steady as one, tall brute wielding a giant rock axe approached them with heavy, sounding steps. Jihl lifted her head and locked eyes with him before bowing only her head.

She lifted her head up again and spoke with a voice as steely and as controlled from when Lightning had first met her. "Jihl Nabaat, and here, the consort to your leader," She took a firm hold on Lightning's arm which stiffened back to her side. "Princess of Cocoon. We have come for the Warchief."

Lightning's hand tightened its grip on the handle of her duffel bag. The man, who donned enough tattoos to cover the whole of his torso, narrowed his eyes, glancing at Jihl and Lightning before raising his head to eye the group of soldiers that huddled in the distance. "And them?"

"They will remain here to spend the night. Let them guard with you if you must."

"The aids?" The man frowned.

"They keep track of the soldiers. They are following and will land soon."

The man turned his back and barked for two guards that stood on each far end of the entrance, and worked their way at opening the gate. The doors tilted outside, moving towards them and the guards lined on either side. The man marched in with them, and Lightning felt her breath get caught within her throat.

Houses nestled near the trees erected on the tall wooden walls around the space that expanded towards the inside. In the far center several meters from the gate, children and adults sang and spun in slow, exact motions around a fire that danced tall and emerged from the thick pile of sticks and stones. Villagers circled the large fire, hand in hand, and the bright warm light seemed to touch their faces, dancing with them with small patches of its flames. A few heads turned to her, eyes curious but distrustful, but returned their attention back to the fire, screaming prayers and singing again as a few adults threw liquid into the fire, making it burn more boldly and wildly for a second.

The man halted, turning to them with a finger outstretched. "Your house is not yet finished. Ask a few villagers and they _might_ just help you."

"Thank you," Jihl countered his sneering eyes with a smile that reached nowhere near her eyes. "She'll have a tent, then."

The man's eye twitched and he left them with a huff. Lightning proceeded to the northeast corner with the fewer, smaller houses. Jihl walked slowly beside her, watching as more and more villagers focused on them. Jihl chuckled as a child not any older than five scowled at them, then turned to Lightning. "Even the young know their enemies."

"They should know we're not enemies anymore," Lightning tensed as she walked through the crowds of people who had begun to cloud their path, but none of them close enough to reach out to her. Lightning sighed and quickened her pace, glancing at Jihl who seemed to enjoy taking her time. Soon enough, they reached an area behind the tiniest houses in the village. Wood and bamboo were bundled pathetically in a pile, next to old, filthy tools. Lightning gritted her teeth as Jihl spared her a leering glance, walking past the pile before turning to her.

"My house isn't finished yet, he said," Lightning kicked what seemed to be a saw, the metal covered in thick rust. She sighed and followed Jihl to her spot, settling her duffel bag there.

Lightning attempted to work with Jihl on the tent in focused silence, but the gathering gazes behind her intensified to the point where Lightning had faced them while she pulled the tent up and looked back at them on occasion. She realized she had been staring for too long and the crowd began to whisper, and she felt a low, boiling rumble in her throat as she called for Jihl. "I just have to survive here, right?"

Jihl lifted the frame of her glasses on her nose slightly. "Do not think that surviving involves letting them ogle at you and glaring back."

Lightning stuffed her belongings inside and went after Jihl again as the woman strode to the group of young villagers. They frowned as she walked nearer but opened a path for her still, and Lightning followed suit, doing her best to ignore the prickling feeling on her spine. They headed to a small but elevated bamboo house. Lightning raised an eyebrow at Jihl who paid her no attention as she walked up the stairs of the hut. She paused as she shoved aside the curtain draped over the entrance, turning her head to the side but not looking at Lightning.

"It is the man you supposedly were to marry," She mumbled and slipped past the curtain. Lightning's brows furrowed and her lips parted for a question, but she kept silent.

Lightning lifted the thick curtain above her head, letting the fabric fall past her shoulder. The tent was spacious but cluttered and her nose felt the same, after a while–scents of oil, a basin of thick liquid and fruit mixed with a scorching smell that forced her nostrils open. A large man covered with thin layers of cloth lay on the bed, gasping as Lightning's feet creaked on the bamboo floor. A nurse sat on the edge of his bed and his hand began to tremble, gripping weakly at the nurse's hand, which she offered right away. The woman wiped the beads of sweat that formed on the man's face. He was old, although the scars on his face and arms as well as the lack of color in his skin aged him a decade more. He grunted but closed his eyes shut, calmness filling his features, as the nurse pressed a damp cloth to his side.

She left her hand there and nodded at Jihl in greeting. Jihl gave her a deep bow, instead, face solemn for only a moment before being devoid of feeling. "Has there been progress?"

The woman glanced between her and Lightning who gave a curt nod. "Not that I can tell, anymore..." She spoke her words more softly, without the harshness of the brusque man who greeted them earlier or the circle of villagers that sang around the fire. "I will keep trying, nonetheless."

"I advise against wasting any more of the medicine," Jihl's voice was sharp in opposition, but her voice was strained.

The nurse bit her lip and looked back at the old man. "There must be another way, but I don't think I..." She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.

A full suffocating silence fell in the cramped space. Lightning stepped forward. "What...happened?"

The nurse narrowed her eyes at Lightning and then to Jihl. "She doesn't know?"

"I thought I'd show her instead," Jihl grated every word. "He had been severely injured during the war, and the lasting wounds have left him sick." She turned to the man, long dark hair stained with graying strands. Lightning remembered the mass of thick dark hair from the wedding, tucked under a beast's fur, wild and alive with tints of red. "His strength to have lived this long inspires me. But he suffers."

Lightning grappled for words. "How have you been treating him?"

"Leaves, oils, and spirits for the wounds. Medicine from the aids have helped make the treatment faster," The nurse pressed the cloth against his side a bit more before wringing it over an empty basin. "He's still as sick as ever."

"I might be able to help," Lightning sucked in a breath at the brightly colored bruises on the man's scarred chest. "His organs might need to be checked, for all we know."

The nurse leaned forward to her, eyes twinkling and mouth agape. "Can you do it? Can you?"

"I was a soldier. I had to learn how to fix people up," Lightning stiffened but let the woman pull her hands to her chest as she nodded, eyes glossy.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."

Jihl spoke, finally, voice as hushed as the woman's. "The aids that will come might bring something of use to you. Visit him again in the morning." With a curt bow to the nurse, Jihl left the hut. Lightning squeezed one of the woman's hands before she let them go, and stood up to follow Jihl.

* * *

She would hear them cry later into the night, nearing the morning.

Though there were no tears. Lightning didn't look while they chanted the same few phrases over and over, fueled by the rhythm in the quiver in their voices that tugged on something in Lightning's chest where the unpleasant feeling dulled. Beneath the mantra Lightning heard the same tone of beg and pleading close to misery that she'd become familiar with in the many times criminals and citizens alike had asked her for mercy as if there were any she was free to give. It hurt her head, thinking about her indifference that plagued the way she thought and acted until now, where the phrase the villagers cried out not to the gods but to her.

She rolled over to her side and forced her eyes shut. A woman screamed the phrase before the group began to sing it, the fire crackling louder and louder.

* * *

**A/N:** changed the summary and many other things. sorry for the slow update. thank you for reading and also for the reviews! i appreciate them very much :) i hope you enjoyed the chapter.


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